


Starman

by zillybooradley



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Assault, M/M, Mental Institutions, PTSD, Recovery, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-22
Updated: 2013-11-26
Packaged: 2017-12-12 16:20:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/813542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zillybooradley/pseuds/zillybooradley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[ References to self harm, suicide, and past assault - not in detail, however. I myself am triggered by some of those things so I would never go past a few words. ]</p><p>Dirk Strider has been alone for as long as he can remember, and he hates it so much it made him want to die.<br/>Jake English has been alone for as long as he can remember, and now that he isn't, it makes him want to die.</p><p>Opposites attract.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Let the Children Lose it

**Author's Note:**

> View the trigger warnings, please! I assure you, it is not very graphic.

_"A seventeen-year-old boy was found living alone on an island of the coast of Argentina. He appeared uncivilized and disoriented when brought to the United States, fighting his rescuers and causing them significant damage."_

_"There were no casualties, but three members of the rescue team were put in the hospital after the vicious attack. The boy has been placed under government care in a psychiatric hospital in Houston, Texas, where he will undergo therapy to civilize and pacify him."_

_"His doctors have no idea where he came from or how he survived on the island alone. He was discovered as workers began drilling for oil."_

_"The island is now a fully functioning oil treatment plant."_

_"The boy refuses to speak."_

_"This is Anna Barnett with Channel 7. Halle Rees is up next with E! Entertainment news."_

_"Thanks, Anna! Big news today. Dave Strider, the ever-famous and admired actor and director, has sent his younger brother to a psychiatric hospital after a - gasp! - psychotic episode."_

_"A personal friend of Strider has said that this 'brother' may actually be the director's lovechild with an actress in his upcoming movie! How scandalous."_

_"His 'brother' (laughter) brought a knife to school and threatened another student before cutting his wrists and stabbing himself in the chest. Can you see a movie about this in the future? We sure can!"_

_"The boy survived and it seems he was simply 'defending himself'. What a publicity nightmare, huh?"_

_"Back to you, Anna."_

The only channels available at this goddamn hospital are the news and that stupid movie network that shows the same film about white women falling in love and falling apart. You honestly can't decide which is worse.

After that monstrosity of a broadcast, though, you're pretty fucking sure the former is the real problem.

First off, you highly doubt that jungle boy is as rabid as they said. They kidnapped him, for fuck's sake. No shit he's gonna flip out. And now his home is gone? That's hella messed up, you think. Way uncool. Kinda weird that he's most likely in the same hospital as you. Maybe you'll go look for him when you get free time.

When they switch to the next story, you groan. Really? _That's_ how they phrase the fact that you _were so fucking depressed and alone that you tried to kill yourself in public?_ You don't get sympathy, you get a laugh track. 

Your life is The Big Bang theory. You are a nerd with no friends except a couple other nerds and a hot blonde. Cue laugh track.

Bazinga! You hate yourself.

It's not shocking that your self-esteem is so low. You spend most of your time alone in an apartment way bigger than someone like you needs or wants. Bro's hardly ever home. Part of you thinks you tried to off yourself to get his attention, but you know it's more than just that.

For one, you're gay as hell and your school isn't exactly homo-friendly. It's not like you get beat up, but people steal your stuff and slash your tires and write 'FAGGOT' in sharpie on your locker. It's a constant harassment. Sometimes you feel like a sexist guy on tumblr. The only difference, of course, is that those guys deserve the occasional hate mail.

And it's not like it's just letters and notes. Once some boys followed you home and threw rocks into your window. You were sitting right at the windowsill when it happened and the glass got stuck in your face and chest. It's amazing that the media didn't grab hold of that - seems they're only interested in things that make _you_ look bad.

It feels like you've been harming for as long as you've been breathing. Thick scars cover your shoulders and thighs, some from before you entered middle school. Bro only found out when you tried to kill yourself and the doctors in the emergency room told him.

The wound to your stomach wasn't that bad. You know where your vitals are and you purposely avoided them. You're an organ donor, after all, and you wanted to die by bleeding out. It seemed the most agonizing. You'd show them, you thought. They'd learn. 

All anyone 'learned' was that you are, according to the news, psychotic and dangerous. Yeah, not exactly the outcome you'd hoped for.

A couple days after it happened, you run into one of the kids from school in the cafeteria of the hospital. You recognize her but you don't really know her, as she is a freshman and you are a senior. (Not to mention the fact that you don't socialize much anyway.) She'd always been quiet and shy and you learn that she has PTSD - her brother attacked her when she eight years old. Her face is burned badly - acid from his chem class at school, she tells you, kinda like Two-Face - and she wore a wig at school. She decided not to have facial reconstruction surgery. 

"I'm content with being ugly. I'm just glad my eyesight's intact so I can still see all the beauty in the world!"

It's ridiculous how sweet she is, you think.

Her name is Calliope, she says. "After the muse! So I always try my very best to inspire people however I can." You call her Callie and she says she likes that.

She's there because of you.

"It was the blood. There was so much, and..."

You instantly feel horribly guilty, but at least she's okay. As you try to apologize, she's quick to interject.

"It wasn't your fault! I've tried too, believe me. But we're both alright! It's going to get better. It has to, right? It's just gotta!" 

Her happiness and confidence confuses you, but it's more than welcomed. She comes and visits you often, as she has more freedom to walk about than you do. Callie doesn't have a 5150 as she's mainly there because she feels safer. They can help her properly during manic attacks and the people at school can't. She may be the only kid here who actually likes it. She says she likes talking to you because you don't gawk at her - her scars are horrible, some would even say creepy, but you don't think she deserves to be stared at. You're covered in scars, too. It'd be unfair to say it's any different. 

When you mention the jungle boy to her, her face falls. "His story makes me so sad." Callie murmurs, fidgeting slightly in the chair next to your bed. "And he's all locked up in the bad place. Way way downstairs with the other, um. Dangerous people." She shakes her head and sniffles slightly, wiping the place her nose _would_ be with her sleeve. "I don't think he's dangerous, though. I saw him when they were moving him and he just looked sad and scared."

Nodding in agreement, you sigh. "He was on the news right before me. I, uh. I don't know if you know about my, um. Situation." Callie smiles slightly. "Yes, I know. You're related to that director, correct? I must admit that his movies aren't really my style." You laugh off her comment. It doesn't bother you when people dislike Bro's movies - as long as they're polite about it, anyway. "But yes, I saw the news story. I'm quite sorry, Dirk, that people must intrude on your personal life so terribly." She makes an excellent point. 

 

You soon find that Callie is one of the only positives of being here. She stays with you often and once you're able, you go visit her as well. A week goes by and everything seems okay. You're getting better and Callie is, too. The two of you plan on hanging out at school more now that you've gotten close. She's really nice to talk to, very earnest and warm. She's exactly the kind of person you need. 

Then, the unthinkable happens. 

You don't know who leaked pictures of you to the media, but one morning your face is all over the morning news. 

Even worse, Callie's there, too.

They show pictures of you and Callie laughing and eating together in the cafeteria, pictures of you asleep and looking exhausted and awful, hooked up to all sorts of machines (they must've been taken shortly after you arrived) and pictures of just Callie. 

"Strider's brother befriends mutant girl in hospital!" Screams _STAR_ , your face along with hers on the cover. You feel sick, so sick, and you're gawking at your television when Callie enters. The second she sees the screen, she falls to the ground in a mess of sobs. You're a wreck, biting hard on your arm like a wild animal until you make yourself bleed. Callie sees the blood and collapses into an anxiety attack, which makes you panic and scream. 

You're angry, so angry, and alone and lost and out of control. Callie's sobbing along with your screaming drowns out the sound of the T.V., and you punch the brick wall of your room until your hands are too broken and bleeding to move. It's all too much and you don't even notice the nurse coming in with a sedative shot.

When you come to, Callie's gone. Her parents decided to move her to a hospital in Vermont. Being near you was too dangerous, the nurse said. The last thing she needs is someone revealing her location and putting her in danger. On the bright side (if there even is one,) they found the person who leaked the photographs. He was a nurse that worked on the lowest security level floor and was looking for quick cash. They assure you that he's long gone.

Arms and hands bandaged up, you find yourself strapped down to the bed. "You lost a lot of blood. This is for your own protection, as well as everyone else's." They've moved you to a new room, a double-bed 'suite' with more medical equipment and restraints. It's on a higher security level, one for potentially dangerous and definitely suicidal patients. 

You fall asleep again, not noticing your new roommate.


	2. Cause He Knows it's all Worthwhile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Make new friends.

After sleeping for what feels like days (but is really only about twelve hours) you wake to see the boy in the bed next to you crying. He's strapped down, too, and unable to move anything besides his fingers. The boy - who really looks more like a man with a child's face - is controlling an iPod connected to some headphones. They're pretty loud, and you recognize a lullaby that's playing out of them. 

_A la nanita nana, nanita ello, nanita ello_  
Mi niño tiene sueño, bendito sea, bendito sea  
A la nanita nana, nanita ello, nanita ello  
Mi niño tiene sueño, bendito sea, bendito sea 

It's from some Latin-American country, but you aren't sure which. He's mouthing the words to the song and shaking, his eyes shut tight as if he was trying to block out the sun. The look of anguish on his face makes you think that maybe he needs help, so you push the button on your bed to call for a nurse.

The nurse who comes is one of your favorites. She's actually the type of person who wants to help rather than hinder, and you can tell that she got into this business because she truly wanted to help kids get better. 

"Hey, nurse." You chime, smiling weakly at her. "When d'you think I could get out of these straps? It was kinda neat for a second, but now I'm just gettin' claustrophobic. I kinda feel like I'm in a movie with a shitton of evil wackos." 

Nurse Serket laughs, covering her mouth with her hand before pulling a chart from the front of your bed. "You hurt yourself quite terribly, Mr. Strider. We aren't sure you're ready to be given the freedom of movement again." The way she says it makes you cringe - you aren't stable enough to even move. What does that mean? 

After pleading with her for a while, she eventually calls in another doctor and they decide to let you out of the restraints. As soon as you're free, you sit up and stretch. "Fuck, that feels good. Thanks, Miss." Now that you're out of that little predicament, you remember the boy next to you. "Yo, Miss Nurse. Who's he?" You point with your newly-freed hand, raising an eyebrow at her.

Her face falls as if she was hoping you'd ask _anything_ but that.

Sighing softly, she answers you in a voice much quieter than you're used to. Serket isn't very loud - she's soft spoken, kind and a bit of a chatter bug, but she's never overbearing. Her speeches about mental health and medical history (which she "Majored in at Harvard! Such a lovely time of life, college. What are you doing for college? You're very smart! I could get you some help in applying to an Ivy League school, or perhaps you'd prefer something more artistic?" That speech went on for about an hour.) are excellent bedtime stories. All the Lunesta in the world has nothing on one of her rants. 

But that's not the point. Eventually, she speaks. "We aren't quite sure. He speaks English, but we think he has selective mutism. He only speaks to me and one other nurse. All he wanted after he got out of isolation was an iPod with that song on it. I know he must have other interests, but he won't speak to us about his personal life." She looks so defeated when she tells you about him. You can tell it breaks her up inside that she doesn't know how to help him. Whenever you smile at her, she looks like she took gold in the Olympics. That's how much she wants you to get better - it makes her feel successful. 

This boy makes her feel useless.

"Why's he strapped down? Suicide kid?" You scratch your head, incredibly grateful to have the power to move again. It sucked not being able to get rid of an itch. Serket shakes her head again. "I don't want to frighten you, but he's a bit dangerous. Very violent." 

Judging by how much he's crying, he's anything but dangerous. "Am I allowed to talk to him?" You ask, turning to look at the sobbing boy in the bed next to yours. She just laughs, cringing. "You're welcome to try." 

With that, she leaves to go check up on other patients. She'll have to lock your door, she says, because you aren't cleared to have free time outside yet. Surprisingly, you're okay with that. You're looking forward to having some alone time with this kid. 

Once your nurse is gone, you stand slowly and go over to the boy. He's obviously awake, so you pull a chair over to his bedside and sit down. Hesitantly, you poke his cheek to get his attention.

His eyes open with a start, bright and green and completely terrified. He's far cuter when he's not sobbing his pretty emerald eyes out, you notice. The kid doesn't speak, he just stares. You take one of the earbuds out of his ears and introduce yourself. "I'm Dirk. We're roommates. I'd shake your hand, but I dunno if that's physically possible." All he seems to know how to do is stare - until finally, he speaks.

The voice that comes from his mouth is deep and strong, but tainted with an uncharacteristic quietness. You can tell that he's usually much louder. 

"Are you a doctor?"

You laugh, the idea of you _working here_ absolutely ridiculous. "Hell no. I'm a patient, like you." He relaxes a little bit as you show him the bracelet on your wrist. It reads 'Dirk Strider // 17 // DOB: 1/3/95 // 5150'.

The boy looks to those last four numbers with a quizzical look on his face. Apparently he's done talking for now. God, you were hoping he wouldn't notice that. You kinda figured that most people knew about that by now. You speak quickly, giving him the same explanation the police gave your brother. "Danger to self and or others. I, uh. Tried to kill myself and I hurt myself real bad. I ain't gonna hurt you, though. I get violent, but not at anybody but myself." 

You want him to talk more. His voice is soothing, quiet and steady like a river. Makes you remember way, way back when you were a kid and your brother wasn't famous. 

One time, he took you to a big national park. It's been so long, and you don't remember the name, but it was green and peaceful and quiet. City noises are all that you know now, and the only thing you can remember from that forest is one sound.

You remember the way the trees rustled in the wind, how cool and stinging the breeze was on your cheeks. That's how his voice sounds. 

You love it.

Quickly realizing that he isn't going to speak again, you fill the silence with your own chatter. 

"This place blows, huh? I'd ask you what you were in for but I don't wanna pry. That's plain rude, ain't it?"

He's silent.

"I used to be up with the 'average' kids. Y'know, just the people who were hella sad or scared or whatever. Got moved down with the violent ones because I had a lil' outburst. You've probably heard of me?"

His face is blank and it's clear that the answer is no.

"My brother, then. He's a movie director. SBAHJ series?"

This time, his eyes light up. "I adore films." He says, so quietly that you think it might just be the wind (before promptly realizing that the floor you're on has no windows). That's all he says, but you decide to run with this. "Movies. You like movies?" To this, he nods slightly against his pillow. 

He's got jet-black hair and olive toned brown skin. His eyes are green like the forest from your childhood, and you're happy to see that they're no longer filled with tears. By now, he's stopped crying. The expression on his face is blank, but not negative. 

"I like action, personally. And funny stuff. Like, uh. Zoolander. Great fuckin' movie. And _James and the Giant Peach_. God, that movie." You place your hand over your heart, fake emotion flooding your face. "Gets me right here." The boy _laughs_ , which you consider a huge victory. You smile at him and sit back. "Y'got a cute laugh. Did you know that?" He laughs again, embarrassed, and you ramble about movies some more.

"But, uh. Action. Action, action, action. I love the _Alien_ movies. Just the first two, though. The third one is a disgrace to Sigourney Weaver-kind. But man, Sigourney fuckin' Weaver. I'm hella gay but I'd definitely smooch her. All over her alien love-hatin' face." 

He looks a little confused, so you explain. "See, _Alien_ is all about how much she resents and despises these other-world shits." The boy nods a little, listening closely. "But in _Avatar_ , Sigourney Weaver loves the aliens. Like, she gives her life for them. I kinda like imagining that they're the same character." Suddenly, his eyes grow wide. 

It's obvious that he's quite interested in this theory of yours, which is really more of a dream than an actual hypothesis. There's no way this shit is true, but it's fun to imagine. Regardless of how canon it is, the kid's interested and you're happy about that. 

"So what if, after all her horrible adventures, Ripley makes it back to Earth, n' she gets asked to go check out this new planet. Now, she's no idiot. She's seen this before. She's like, he'll fuckin' no. There's gonna be aliens all up in that planet. But she's a badass, y'know? She takes risks."

"Ripley goes on the mission and holy shit, these aliens are nice. Like, super nice. So she makes all the Avatar shit and goes and chills with them and learns their language and she just, she just fuckin' loves them. They get her. And maybe she starts to remember way back when she fought those old aliens. Maybe she starts feeling kinda bad, like, shit, they were just trying to survive. And she's so angry at the world and she fights back, and she saves that perfect world and,"

The boy interrupts you. "And she dies for what she loves." His voice is strong and clear, much different from the timid squeak that left his lips initially. You just nod, speechless at how... normal he sounds. Suddenly, it's like you're just having a conversation with a friend. 

That's... new.

"You can talk." You smirk, causing him to let out an exaggerated sigh. "I must admit that I did not trust you before. You look very much like one of those pale-skinned doctors." Whoa, where is he from? 'Pale-skinned'? Did you just get transported into the world of Pocahontas? 

Suddenly, he laughs, "I'm only kidding, Dirk. I have, indeed, seen a white person before. But I got you, didn't I? Being indigenous has its perks." Was that an unintentional Eminem reference, or is he seriously quoting your idol at you?

This kid gets more interesting by the second. If it weren't for your complete dislike for human contact and his complete inability to move, you'd hug him. 

"My name is Jake, but don't tell the nurses. I prefer to remain a mystery to people I don't like." This suggests that he likes you, which you count as a nicely sized victory. "I'd shake your hand like a proper gentleman, but I haven't the means." It saddens you that he's unable to move. How could someone like this be dangerous? 

Curiosity has always been one of your vices. When you first started getting into mechanics, you tried to take apart one of your brother's less nice cars. You got shocked on the battery and were sent into a two-day coma.

Your brother didn't visit you then, and he won't visit you now. 

Getting your courage up, you ask him a question that you've been wondering for a while. "Jake. Nice name, dude. Four letter names are totally in this season - unless you spell it some weird way, like with two As or an 'I-E-G-H' stuck in there." Jake laughs, shaking his head, and you continue. "Why are you all strapped down? Serket said you were dangerous, but I don't believe 'er." 

He looks kind of sad, like he was wondering the same thing. "You've seen the news, haven't you? I'm the crazy, rabid jungle boy. I attacked someone. That's enough to get a young man placed in shackles, I presume." While his answer should shock you, it doesn't. You got that sort of aura from him, the vibe that he wasn't from anywhere around here. 

"But I assure you," He's quick to say, shaking his head rapidly. "I do not hurt people. I was very frightened and altogether not in the most stable state of mind." Jake tugs on his bindings in frustration. 

You know what he's going to say before his mouth even opens. "Will you untie me? Please?"

If he kills you, he'd only be doing you a favor. That's the worst thing he could do to you, after all. Leaning forward, you unbuckle the leather straps on his arms, legs, torso and middle. He's held down pretty tight. If it weren't for the fact that this whole situation is sad as hell, it'd be kinda kinky. 

Jake sits up quickly, breathing out a sigh of relief. "Thank you kindly, my friend. This will prove to be a debt I may never repay."

Instead of punching you in the face or tearing your throat out with his teeth, he leans forward and hugs you. It's very anticlimactic, but you have no complaints.


	3. Turn on the TV We May Pick Him Up on Channel Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Socialize.

You and Jake spend the next few hours talking. He speaks like a 1940s movie star and you have to learn how to take him seriously. It's hard not to laugh when he's telling you about 'what a bloody mad journey' his captors took him on. Then again, it's hard not to feel sympathy rather than humor with what he's saying. This kid comes to America for the first time as a hostage with no one to pay his ransom.

The only difference between Jake's situation and a kidnapping is that this is seen as perfectly legal. Jake is the villain and his captors are well-meaning citizens, only trying to save this boy from his savage life. 

"I had a goddamned laptop on that island. And a big TV and a PS2. It wasn't exactly _Gilligan's Island_."

"Why only a PS2?", you question, raising an eyebrow at him. Doesn't make sense that he'd settle for Ratchet & Clank when he could've had Bioshock. He laughs - god, that fucking laugh again - and tells you that he's got no problem with the classics. That, and his mail got cut off after a while. No more ordering. 

The two of you chat for a while and you find yourself wanting to touch him. That's... weird. Human contact isn't something you're usually fond of. Something about Jake just makes you feel good. Safe. 'Safe' isn't something that you feel very often, so you'd like to hold onto it. You unwittingly move your hand closer to him. Both of you are sitting on your bed, him on the foot of it, crosslegged, and you with your back up against the headboard. Your hand rests in front of you and you don't realize how close it is to him until he touches it.

He's touching you.

Jake picks up your hand and looks at it like you're a specimen on a tray. His fingertips run across your palm and he smiles. "You're handy with a sword, I see." Wow, observant. "You got that from my hands?" You smile, letting your hand relax in his. He nods, tracing over one of your callouses with his finger. "I've got similar callouses from using a gun. Weapons can be rather interesting! Of course, I would never use them on a person. Back home, I'd only use my pistols to fight any predators that saw me as their unlucky prey!" He makes it sound like he lived in the fuckin' Amazon or something. 

"Where exactly are you from, anyway?" You say finally, eyeing him over the boring, hospital-grade sunglasses they gave you. (Yours are too sharp. Dangerous. Shades as a weapon - damn, they get creative.) 

He hesitates. "I'm not entirely sure. An island. It's off the coast of some South American country. Argentina, I believe. It's very small, so it was never given an official name." Jake smiles sadly, looking down and away from you. "I just called it 'home'."

Shit, that's really cute and sad and corny and if he was your friend, or if this was a different situation, you'd laugh at him. 

Instead, you do what you assume good friends do. You comfort him. Still, you haven't a clue how normal people comfort their friends. You've never thought of yourself as 'normal' and nobody's ever thought of you as their friend, so you're kind of at a loss for how to help Jake. You take his hand and try smiling at him. Unfortunately, you still rather new to this 'smiling' thing and it appears as a strange, coy little smirk. Jake gets what you're trying to do, though, and squeezes your hand.

He tells you that you're very kind and that he'd likely still be crying in his shackles if not for you. You're about to tell him that no, it's no big deal, you're just some stupid kid - but then you realize that it's kind of nice having someone feel something positive towards you. 

For once, you actually feel at home. This place, this ugly, grey and white and sterile hospital, is not what you thought your home would ever look like. Nobody wants their home to be a mental hospital. You're well aware of the stigma and prejudice that people are going to hold against you just because you spent any time at all here, but you don't really mind. Fuck what other people think of me, you think. At least somebody finds my company mildly entertaining. 

You smile, gearing up to say something deep and thought-provoking, something that'll make Jake like you more, when Serket walks in.

The two of you freeze. You both know how much trouble you'll get in if she, or any of the other nurses, sees that you've let Jake out of his bonds. Unaware of how to fix the situation, you both just stay frozen, holding tight to each other's hands. It feels like an eternity, but finally, she says something. It's quiet and a little bit scared, but there's a smile in her voice. "...I've brought medicine for you both. And a television set, because I figured you'd both be up and about and looking for something to do."

God, you love this woman.

The two of you relax again and she hands you both a little cup of pills. You get Zoloft, Jake gets... well, actually, you aren't sure what he takes. That's not something either of you seem to want to discuss. Nurse Serket plugs in the TV and hands you the remote. "Do avoid the gossipy channels, alright, Dirk?" She murmurs before leaving the two of you alone again. She assured you that the snitch was gone, but you're still scared of what may happen. Out of sheer curiosity, you flip to E! to see what's going on in the 'outside world'. 

Thankfully, your name and your brother's are free from the headlines. You and Jake laugh at celebrities and you dish about things you learned from your brother. He doesn't talk to you much, but when he does, you get along rather well. Bro's a good guy, you're sure of it. He doesn't want to hurt you, he just has to. For work. For his reputation.

These are the kinds of things you used to tell yourself at night when he wasn't home, when he was out filming at three in the morning and you were alone and scared and desperate for some sort of attention. He isn't trying to hurt you, you'd think. He loves you. You are loved. You are important. You are -

_"Mr. Strider! Any comment on your brother's mental health?"  
"Mr. Strider! Do you plan on making a visit to the hospital where your brother is staying?"  
"Mr. Strider! Mr. Strider! Mr. Strider!"_

Suddenly your ears are burning and you're so embarrassed and Jake's watching the TV but he's also watching you and then your brother responds.

_"Ladies, gents, reporters of indeterminate gender, I'm a very busy man. I'd be quite appreciative if we could focus on more important things than a minor health issue. Kid's fine, just had a rough patch. Everybody goes a lil' crazy sometimes, right? I'll talk more in my interview tomorrow, but really, folks, it ain't very interesting. He's just a hormonal teen, you get me?"_

The reporters laugh and smile as your brother smirks at them, seemingly happy regardless of the fact that his brother just woke up from a medically induced coma.

Jake must've noticed how badly your body is shaking, because he takes the blanket off his bed and wraps it around you. "Are you chilly, my friend? Shall I get another blanket? By Jove, haven't they got any quilts in this place?" He places a hand on your forehead as if to check for a fever. Apparently he hasn't noticed that you're being ridiculed and ignored on national television. 

"Jake," You say finally, voice choked and soft. "That man's brother is _me_." Your friend is silent for a moment before he goes up to the television set and shuts it off. "Give me his contact information. I feel the need to write this man a very stern letter." He stomps over to you and grabs you into a tight hug. Not exactly what most people do in this situation, but it's not bad. "I'm so sorry, Dirk. That man is not family. He doesn't know how family works. Family trusts each other and loves each other and is kind to each other." For a kid without a family, Jake sure does seem to know how they work. 

You lean forward and rest your head on his shoulder. You're hungry and sad and you want to die so badly it may actually be killing you, but this is kind of helping. Jake smells like trees, you think, and his hair texture reminds you of fine sand. He holds you until you stop shaking, his hands holding tightly to your wrists so you don't try to harm yourself. Jake tells you that you're safe, that you're loved, that you're important.

It's sweet, even if you don't believe him.

While Jake's got you on personal lockdown, you realize something. He's the closest thing to family you've ever had. That may sound like jumping to conclusions - after all, you've only known him a few hours! - but that's how pathetic you are. This boy who you _just met_ means more to you than anyone else has. Ever.

(Except maybe for Callie, but you've been trying not to think about her.) 

Serket comes in again to check up on you and you'd have though she'd be confused slash worried to find two mental patients cuddling. Instead, she smiles before noticing the channel and wheeling the television away again. She promises she'll bring it back with movies and a DVD player, but no cable.

You can see her mumbling to herself as she walks away, murmuring that perhaps digital downloads would be better. "DVDs could be used as weapons!" She mutters, nervous about you hearing. Fortunately, you don't mind. You're used to people treating you like a human time bomb. 

Jake, however, doesn't seem to notice what Serket was saying. He also doesn't seem to notice that you're kind of super fucked up. All he wants to do is talk to you about movies and jokes. Unlike everyone else, he's interested in you for _you_. Jake isn't trying to get tickets to a pre-screening of one of your brother's movies. He isn't trying to get your money and he isn't being paid to talk you out of suicide. 

All he wants is to talk to you and only you. You're his friend, after all. 

_You have a friend._

You start to feel dazed and dreamy, thinking about Jake and your brother and feelings and all sorts of things. Right as you're about to drift off, Jake speaks. 

"My friend! Would you like to chat?" 

It only takes you a second to say yes.


	4. Through Morning's Thoughts & Fantasies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sunrise isn't as pretty as him, you think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the wait! chapters of my other fics are coming very soon as well. i lost the writing bug but it's definitely back!

Jake talks a lot, you find, especially when he's excited. 

"God help me, Dirk, how is it possible that there are so many Pokemon in one region? Look at that! My Charmeleon is evolving! Golly, he's growing up so fast. I feel bad for not having a gift for him on this remarkable occasion. I suppose I could give him this Pecha Berry to hold. What do you think? Is that a nice enough present? I want to be a good guardian for him, you know. The last thing I want is the poor thing growing up without a family like I did." He wipes away an imaginary tear, kissing the screen of the Gameboy Advance he's playing. 

How is it possible for someone to be so happy here? Every morning, he wakes you up to go to the east side of the ward and watch the sunrise. It's the only part of the floor with windows and Jake seems to think it's the most beautiful thing in the world.

Little does he know that the sunrise has nothing on the view you get standing next to him.

He looks so damn _pretty_ with his eyes aglow and sparkling as he watches the sun welcome in the morning. Before he came along, every morning was just another day you had to get through without jumping off a roof. Now he starts off your day with something positive and beautiful, even if you're usually so tired that you aren't really watching (especially because your eyes are too sensitive to be exposed to that much light). 

Jake is always finding beauty in things. For a while you were hooked up to a heart monitor so they'd instantly know if you were in danger. You hated the thing. It made you feel like a health hazard, like some mental patient who was physically incapable of going a day without hurting himself. 

It sucked even more because that's _exactly what you are._

Jake was fascinated by it, though. He'd trace the screen with his finger, grinning as the little line moved up and down. "This is how your heart is beating, Dirk!" He pressed one hand to your chest, the other on the monitor. "God, isn't technology amazing? No matter where we come from, our hearts beat just the same. Isn't that beautiful?" He kept rambling but as soon as he touched your chest you stopped hearing what he was saying. Jake didn't see the correlation between the sudden racing of your heart and him touching you. He got a little nervous and pulled away to ask if you were alright. All you could do was nod.

Sexuality never comes up in your conversations. It's been three weeks since you moved into the same room as him and you talk and touch a lot but he's never mentioned having any feelings for you, or anyone else, for that matter. For all you know, he could be asexual or something. He's so nature-y that he might even be asexual like certain plants are. If you could, you'd sprinkle pollen in his hair and see if any flowers grow in your room. 

You have hope, though, that he might have feelings for you. He finds a lot of excuses to touch you and tell you how handsome you are. Once he even commented on your scars, saying one of them looked like a crescent moon. With him around, they don't look as ugly to you. 

There's no rules against dating in the hospital. Doctors assume that the patients will be too sad to get romantic, but that's not the case at all. There's a schizophrenic dude and a guy with severe anxiety and arachnophobia (he's also in a wheelchair, poor guy) a few doors down from you who seem very happy with each other. Both know that the other will never see them as a psycho. They just see each other as humans, because really, that's all any of you are. 

Maybe you and Jake could be like them. 

You really want to be like them. __

You and Jake are watching _Adventure Time_ and he's getting really excited that he and the dog share a name. He keeps running up to the television set and pointing to Jake and then back to himself, laughing and saying "Do we look alike? I do believe we could be family!" 

He makes you laugh a lot and you're so thankful he's your roommate. It must've been divine intervention or something. If you believed in God, you'd be thanking Him every damn day for Jake English being in your life. Specifically, you'd thank Him for how close Jake is sitting next to you right now. Your bodies are touching and he's warm and holy shit he's resting his head on your shoulder. You usually sit close to one another but this is much closer than usual. 

"Jake, you tired or somethin'?" You ask, fighting the urge to pet his hair. (How does he get it so soft when there's no conditioner here?) He responds matter-of-factly, looking up at you without moving his head away. "No. I just enjoy being close to you."

_Oh._

"Why's that, dude?"

"You feel nice, I suppose. Your heart beats fast when I touch you and I like feeling it. The reminder that there is a breathing, warm person next to me is very comforting." That's not nearly as gay an explanation as you'd hope, but you'll accept it. "So it don't really matter who it is you're touchin', then." He sits up, tilting his head at you. "Of course it matters. You're the only person I'd consider touching like this."

Oh?

_Oh._  
"Why's that? Don't you wanna touch other people?" That sounded weird. Jake just shakes his head. "I like you. I find you very attractive, both your personality and your body."

Holy shit. Is this a dream? Are you gonna wake up needing a hot shower?

"Dirk? Is that alright? I apologize, this isn't exactly a romantic atmosphere. I wish we were in a forest or something, like when Neytiri and Jake first kissed. Not that we must kiss, or anything, but that is something people do sometimes."

All you can do is stare at him. "Gracious me, Dirk! I'm afraid I'll have to take things into my own hands if you don't give me an answer!" He leans in and kisses you, holding your face gently in his hands. 

The moment you kiss back is the same moment that you realize you no longer want to die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> any guesses on who the couple next door is?

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and critiques are welcome!


End file.
